


Because He's Not Dancing With Me

by AutumnFell



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/M, Hanahaki Disease, I swear too much, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Somebody dies but eh, The only good thing that I've ever posted, Unhappy Ending, i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 11:19:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15314364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnFell/pseuds/AutumnFell
Summary: He'd meant to deny them from rising any further from the moment he first felt the lump in his throat, but he instead quickly sat up in bed to double over and begin hacking up petals violently onto the bedroom floor. They quickly joined the pile that had already almost reached the ceiling within a matter of just a few days.Because three days ago, Thomas Jefferson had announced his engagement to him in front of everyone.





	Because He's Not Dancing With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! In this book, the Hanahaki Disease works on what the person thinks, not if the other person actually loves them.

Alexander Hamilton awoke with a sore throat and a pain in his chest, a seemingly common occurrence these days. His bed overflowed with the silky petals of an Adonis flower, stained with his own blood that seemed to never dry until he was distracted from _him._ How beautiful they could be, despite being the cause of his suffering in the most strange, cruel way.

He'd meant to deny them from rising any further from the moment he first felt the lump in his throat, but he instead quickly sat up in bed to double over and begin hacking up petals violently onto the bedroom floor. They quickly joined the pile that had already almost reached the ceiling within a matter of just a few days.

Because three days ago, Thomas Jefferson had announced his engagement to him in front of everyone. Alex had hiccuped and coughed into his hand to quickly shove the petal in his pocket, excusing himself to the bathroom while the man stared at his back with what he could tell was sympathy.

They had been workplace rivals, but decent friends outside of it, hanging out at divey clubs and drinking cheap wine when they could, but Alex's "relationship" with Jefferson had started a year before when they'd both stumbled home drunk one night. Thomas convinced him that Martha- a pretty, short girl with a smattering freckles around her nose who had begun dating him 7 months before- meant nothing to him and would be forgotten in a few weeks time. That was the night Alex made the mistake that he knew the moment he drifted off in Jefferson's arms- red and purple splotches blooming along his neck and still waiting for his heartbeat to return to normal- would fuck him over sooner or later.

But he hadn't listened to his own warnings, and ended up making the same mistake over and over until it just became a cycle of sleeping with the man, then regretting it in the afterglow.

Occasionally there were differences in the almost daily schedule, like being invited to Thomas' house for dinner while Martha was with a friend, coming to one of his violin concerts, or things like naming the man's new pet bird "Dick". The occasions rebuilt their friendship to the point that Alexander had to insist with masked pain to his friend, Lafayette, that it was simply a friend with benefits situation, because it _was,_ right?

When the petals came, he couldn't be surprised- all of his badly thought out decisions had caught up with him, and he'd fallen hopelessly in love with Mr. Thomas Jefferson. The petals had started a new, more consistent cycle that interfered with his and Thomas' usual plans. Rather than being pinned against a wall, Alexander was forced to call in sick to work every now and then- and call off plans with Thomas- because when things got really bad, he would be found on the floor of his bathroom or in his bed, almost mind-numbingly coughing out whole flowers and stems with a sharp, excruciating pain. The bloodied flowers would grow into long vines of them as soon as they hit the floor, blooming faster the more he looked at them and crawling up his apartment walls to leave him with a semi-permanent reminder of every time Thomas had promised him that he loved Alex.

Yet in some ways, he welcomed the pain with open arms: It was his own fault for believing Thomas, his own fault for pulling him in for that fucked up kiss, his own fault for staying despite everything in his brain screaming at him to leave. So every time he did so much as hiccup because of the disease, he thought to himself, _Thomas isn't the cause of all of this pain, it's your own stupidity that landed you in love with your fuckbuddy._

 

 

* * *

 

  
Jefferson glanced over at Alexander a total of 13 times during the wedding ceremony, unbeknownst to Martha who looked _so happy_ beside him.

He managed to restrain him from coughing at all during their vows, resorting to waiting until the proper time to excuse himself to the bathroom to throw up all of the reminders of _Thomas and his shitty wedding and his stupidly perfect-_

He lost his train of thought during a particularly painful cough, focusing more on trying to actually get the flowers into the toilet bowl. His chest hurt like hell, beautiful yellow petals and blood falling from his mouth, but tapering off by the time his phone started ringing and his friend's- John Laurens- name appeared on the screen, the button to decline the call _so close._

He hesitantly clicked the "Accept" button and prayed to God that he didn't start coughing out vines with his concerned friend on the other line.

"Hey Alex, Thomas is looking for you. Where are you, dear friend?" John exclaimed, clearly out of breath.

At the mention of Thomas, Alexander was pulled into a heavy coughing fit, his throat raw and stinging. He panicked- Hanahaki Disease was known as simply a myth, so John couldn't know.

"Are you okay? That cough didn't sound too good," John stated gently, pity seeping into his voice. Judging by the shuffling on his end, John was fidgeting with his fingers.

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just..." he tried to think of a decent excuse because he was on the brink of screaming out that he was in love with the newlywed Jefferson. In the end, he just squeaked out, "I just have a bad cold."

 _No, Alexander,_ he thought, _you're literally going to die from this_.

"Okay..." John sounded skeptical and Alex honestly couldn't blame him. The sound echoed through the tiny bathroom, and he tried to move as far away from the phone as he could so that it didn't pick up the sound of Alexander coughing lightly into his arm while absentmindedly rubbing his chest where it was sore.

It was silent for the smallest moment before John coquettishly asked, "Are you in the bathroom?" _Shit._

Alex staggered forward to make his quiet, choked, "No," audible and hunched back over the toilet that was almost overflowed with yellow and crimson.

What came out of his mouth was more blood than the usual flowers, the metallic scent filling the air quickly. Even when he eventually did end up vomiting the vines of the Adonises, they turned darker as soon as they fell, wilting; but there was barely any pain, just a hollow feeling in the cavern of his chest. He was for a moment grateful that no one was here to witness this, but of course, John heard the sound of him gagging on the flowers caught in his throat and caught on.

"Are you throwing up?" then a pause, "Oh my god, you _are_ in the bathroom!" he exclaimed in pure excitement tainted by mild concern.

Footsteps were loud outside the door, heightening Alex's panic. He looked towards the door, frightenedly running towards it the second he saw that he had mistakenly left it unlocked.

Just as he reached the entrance, the door swung open to reveal John humming to some familiar pop song. Both stopped dead in their tracks to stare at each other- tacky, almost dried blood trailed down Alexander's chin and dying petals and vines crawled around him to mirror his every step. They both knew what the wilting meant: _The end._

John stared at him, shocked, opening his mouth a few times before shutting it. He walked in the room and closed the door behind him, finally focusing on Alex's damp, widened eyes and opening his arms enough for the dying boy to fall into and let him stay there for as long as he wanted.

After the initial shock subsided, John stroked Alex's hair and hushed him every time a sob escaped the man clutching the back of his dress shirt. After a minute of almost complete silence, John calmly asked, "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

He heard Alex let out a few sniffles to regain his composure before promptly bursting into tears again, a steady stream of blood from his mouth mixing with the salt water. He untangled himself from John's grasp and reached for the doorknob in his slightly delirious, petulant state, "I'm fine, you asshole. I need-"

Before he could say anything more he almost fainted, stuck in a state of slipping in and out of consciousness, only to fall to the tiled floor beneath him. He felt the vines that came from his own lungs wrap around him as he caught glimpses of Laurens slamming open the door and calling for Lafayette. Moments later, Alexander was being lifted off of the floor while the rest of the wedding guests stayed unaware to the passing man.

And through his hazy gaze, he could just make out the image of Thomas Jefferson dancing with a girl in a pretty white dress- someone who wasn't himself. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch up, knowing that Thomas would be better off without him ruining his life.

The world went blank.

 

* * *

 

Thomas woke in the early morning to a kiss by his (now) wife, Martha. When he made no effort to respond to her in kind, she frowned, the ominous light filtering through the curtains dancing in her eye's reflection.

"Are you all right, Tommy?" She leaned up on her elbows to stare at him properly.

He rushed his explanation so that she wouldn't be upset, "'M fine, darlin'. I just have to use the restroom. I'll be back in a few," he reassured her, hurrying his way to the room before he could finally hunch over the porcelain bowl of the toilet to cough violently.

As he coughed up hundreds of the bright, peachy colored petals of the pink carnations ( _"rememberance of the dead", Thomas recalled_ ) with a light splattering of blood, he knew exactly who they were for.

_Alexander Hamilton._

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty rushed since I wrote it on a car ride to California. BYE.
> 
> (Edit 12/16/18: I decided to lightly edit a few things, and feedback is appreciated! I still adore Jamilton, but if you wanna check out my other works, just know that they're all Lams for now, or at least until I come up with an interesting enough plot for another Jamilton one. Thanks for the kudos and even hits since anyone even reading this makes me super nervous and happy! People are so nice ugh)


End file.
